


Encore

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Brad POV, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Second Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-30
Updated: 2008-10-30
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this was gonna happen—and since it already <i>had</i>—then he would damn-well plumb his Captain's ass, none of this weak-titty halfway bullshit. If they were gonna do it, they would <i>do it</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encore

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction ergo it never happened.
> 
> Written for [The Porn Paragraphathon](http://technosage.livejournal.com/258921.html). Prompt was Brad/Nate, "Don’t say it." Original request can be found [here](http://technosage.livejournal.com/258921.html?replyto=6140265). Also posted [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/326370.html).

Awareness filtered in slowly, along with the feeling that something was off. Brad breathed slowly, body humming with relaxed contentment, but still, something at the back of his mind—

He turned his head deeper into the pillow and sniffed. 

This was...not his bed.

What, now he had to do the bullshit sneaking out in the morning act? Not that he wasn't good at sneaking—Recon Marine, thanks very much—but the fact that he had to go to that kind of effort pissed him the fuck off.

But there was still something—

Brad sniffed again, then swallowed as realization hit. This bed did not smell like perfume. It smelled like sex and sweat and that musk that anyone who'd spent massive amounts of time in the exclusive presence of guys would recognize as _man_.

Fuck. He'd gone home with a guy? Was this a joke? He didn't go home with anyone, much less guys. What the fuck had he been doing last—

He definitely remembered Nate's paddle party. He very viscerally remembered Nate trying not to cry like a pussy little bitch in need of a Zoloft prescription. Brad had spent the night noting such things. Like how there must be some de-balling ceremony when you went to turn in your shit because damn if the man hadn't turned from a stone-cold motherfucker to a weepy teenybopper in oh-nothing flat.

Ray had goaded him on, baiting him, their banter cracking everyone's shit up, but in the lulls he'd sent Brad these big-eyed _looks_ , that maybe were supposed to mean something, not that Brad could tell what the fuck was going on in that whiskey tango head of his. He needed to corner Ray and ask him what the fuck because even Walt had noticed—when he wasn't busy noticing Gabe's drinking—and that shit was just not on.

Right. So he remembered last night. He did not get so shit-faced as to black out. At least, not at that point anyway.

Fuck it. He was a leader of the recon community. Time to do some honest-to-God recon before he forgot how.

Brad turned over, carefully, testing his body in the process. Twinges in muscles told him he'd had very enthusiastic sex, but at least he hadn't gone and taken it up the ass. That'd really be gay.

Fuckin' hell, how the mighty had fallen.

And then he stilled because he was looking at an ear sticking up—a very familiar ear—and part of his brain was telling him that this was Rolling Stone-style _obvious_ , he should have connected the dots, what was he, a retard?

But the larger part of his brain was thinking, 'goddamn, I just fucked my platoon commander.'

 _Former_ platoon commander. _Friend_. Nate.

 _Fuck_.

On cue, Nate's eyes fluttered open, muted green in the early morning light. He squinted at Brad, blinking, like he couldn't figure out why Brad was watching him like that, what Brad was doing here in his bed. All Brad could do was look—at the little crease as it appeared on his forehead, at his too-red lips, at the white sheet sliding down his chest when he shifted.

Nate's eyes sharpened like _that_ and suddenly his platoon commander was back in control.

Former. Platoon commander.

Nate sucked in a breath. "Don't say it." His voice was all fucked-out from sleep. And calling out Brad's name as Brad pushed him up against the front door, the kitchen wall, his bedroom doorframe.

Memories of the night before slammed back into place—kissing so long and deep he moved past the taste of beer to the taste of Nate, his little sounds and how they made Brad's chest hurt, the tone of his voice when he panted Brad's name, something like _want need have_. 

Brad pulled himself away from his blank contemplation of Nate's chest to look him in the eyes. "Don't say what, sir? That you let your NCO come all over you last night? That you can now consider your virtue well and truly sullied? That you missed your true calling as a gay porn star?" He paused and considered. "There's still time for that last one."

"Oh, fuck," Nate muttered. He fell back and blew out a breath. The sheet slid a little lower. Brad wanted to pull it off and suck on his pink little nipples, but he supposed now was when Nate would freak about the sex thing and it wouldn't go over well. 

And then Brad followed that thought to its logical conclusion.

Christ on a motherfucking cross. Nate would do the sensible thing; of course he would. Last night was it.

Jesus fuck, Brad hadn't even gotten to fuck him. They'd spent months avoiding the obvious and the one time Brad actually got to fuck him, it'd have to be when they were half-drunk and stupid with it, only capable of rutting against each other like two high school kids who thought they were being adventurous.

No. 

No fucking way. If this was gonna happen—and since it already _had_ —then he would damn-well plumb his Captain's ass, none of this weak-titty halfway bullshit. If they were gonna do it, they would _do it_.

Brad was up and stalking to the bathroom before he thought about it.

"Brad—" Nate called. From where he was. Back in bed. Naked.

Christ. He couldn't look back. He'd never keep going.

So he didn't, just shut the bathroom door behind him. A quick rummage through the bathroom cabinet found him a new toothbrush in its plastic—always prepared, that Nate—and he had it ripped open, water running, in no time. Nate could get over him using his toothpaste; he'd pretty well acquainted himself with Nate's mouth last night, after all. 

Brad brushed his teeth thoroughly. Mike's nachos plus Rudy's sugar-free vegan carob-chip taste-like-ass macaroons plus lots of beer equaled bad, bad things going on in his mouth. He turned on the shower, found a clean towel, focused on the things that were not a naked Nate in bed.

Nate's shower smelled like him. Brad tried to shut that out, but his cock wasn't cooperating and he hadn't gotten laid in forever and a day, so that was pretty understandable.

Moreover, the idea of fucking Nate was doing odd things at the base of his spine. Right. He needed to get the fuck on with this.

When Brad decided he was clean enough—wasn't his ass that would be taking the abuse, after all—he stepped out, left the water on, and quickly toweled himself off. He slung the towel around his hips just in case Nate hadn't moved past denial yet and walked back out to the bedroom.

Nate was exactly where he'd left him. He blinked at Brad's return, like he hadn't thought the earlier scene had really happened. His eyes were really green. 

"Up," Brad barked.

Nate blinked again. And didn't move. Did he remember last night? How drunk had he been, anyway? Brad couldn't recall. Those considerations had kinda checked out when Nate shoved his tongue in Brad's mouth.

Brad grabbed the sheet and pulled. Nate grabbed it back and frowned. "What?" he asked.

"Shower," Brad said, keeping it simple. This time he went for Nate's arm. Hauling him up was way too easy—they'd all lost weight, but Nate hadn't put his back on. 

"Brad—what—"

"No, talking is not the order of the day." Brad marched him to the bathroom and unceremoniously shoved him under the shower spray.

"Shower. Brush your teeth," Brad ordered. 

"Sure you don't wanna do it for me?" Nate bit back.

Brad licked his teeth. Pissiness was a good sign. "Don't tempt me." His wolfish grin let Nate know he was serious.

Nate turned toward the water and reached for the soap. Brad tracked the little rivulets of water that slid down that perfect ass—

He abruptly turned away. No use unduly tempting himself. He had a mission; that mission was _not_ pinning Nate to the shower wall and licking all the water off his body, nice as that mission sounded.

Brad searched through more cabinets and found another clean towel. He tossed it into the bathroom, then waited while Nate brushed his teeth, dried himself off. Torturous. Naked skin awaited him and Brad wanted it. Yesterday.

Nate wandered out in the towel. He folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at Brad, expectantly.

"What?" Brad asked.

"It's your show. Got anything else for me?"

Pissiness was _excellent_. 

Brad stepped in, grasped him behind the neck, and fused their mouths together. Nate's mouth went slack with surprise. Whatever he'd been expecting when he started goading Brad, that apparently wasn't it. Before he got over the shock of it Brad was thrusting his tongue rhythmically in and propelling them back to bed.

He felt his towel go and hardly minded. Nate still had hold of his when Brad pushed him onto the bed. The slit in the towel exposed a pale expanse of thigh that Brad was all for exploring.

"Brad—what—we can't—" Nate couldn't settle on a denial, probably because Nate was too busy arching up into him as he crawled on top of his body.

"Nate—fucking you—and we already did, so pull the stick outta your ass. Gotta make room for me," he murmured, then took Nate's mouth again.

Nate's mouth, which wasn't so much slack as it was bent on devouring Brad alive.

Brad's cock jerked.

He lined their bodies up and thrust against Nate's hip, groaning, got an answering thrust in return. Nate sucked on his tongue and traced patterns down his spine and Brad's mind fogged over with the hotness of it. He was hard and smearing precome between them and Nate was moving restlessly under him, trying to get more and not protesting at all, and Brad groaned in pleasure at the thought. 

Nate moaned, high, then thrust up against Brad more frantically, hands gone tight on Brad's shoulders.

This felt eerily familiar.

Wait, no. There was a reason for that.

Brad shoved himself to his knees, just to get some distance from all the temptation. Nate whined and tried to follow; Brad's cock jerked so hard he had to grit his teeth and close his eyes to ride through it. Too easy to get lost in this.

" _You're_ having second thoughts?" Nate asked.

"No," Brad said, gruff. "My thoughts are quite set on fucking your brains out and for that, sir, you need to roll over and spread 'em."

Something passed through Nate's eyes, then, and he stilled. Brad brought a hand down to idly stroke his own cock. Nate's eyes unerringly followed and once there, he didn't seem able to look away.

"Brad, I don't think—"

"Then it's a good thing I didn't ask you to."

Fire leaked back into Nate's eyes. He surged up. "I am not a piece of ass to be ordered around."

"What's the matter, Captain? Don't want me to fuck you?" Brad played with his own balls, groaning.

Nate's eyes flickered again and dropped to Brad's hands. He hadn't said 'no.' He really was so easy to read. 

"Of course you do," Brad said, knowing. He lowered his voice. "You've wanted me to fuck you since the first time you saw me—climbing out of the water and pulling off my wetsuit. You licked your lips, did you know that? So quick no one else noticed and then you looked away. But I saw it 'cause I was looking at those pretty lips of yours. You wanted me to fuck you then and you want me to fuck you now and you've wanted it every day in between. Your eyes _begged_ for it in Iraq. Ray used to joke that my boyfriend was making eyes at me. I knew what you wanted; I wanted it, too. But see, desert sand isn't exactly K-Y." Nate stared at his mouth, chest moving rapidly. 

Brad leaned down and licked at Nate's lips; he got a faint touch of tongue before he pulled back. "You have K-Y, Nate?"

"Nightstand," Nate rasped.

Brad made a sound of approval low in his throat. "Get on your hands and knees for me."

To his surprise, Nate did. He turned over—smooth flex of muscle and pale skin—and Brad knew nothing in the universe would ever be as hot as his former platoon commander spreading his legs and offering his ass.

Brad took his hands away from his cock. He yanked on the nightstand drawer, found the lube and a condom, and tossed them beside Nate. His hands slid over Nate's ass, up his back, just taking in how he looked liked this, all spread out and wanting.

He followed his hands with his mouth—lips and teeth and tongue. A gentle kiss at one moment, then a nip the next. Nate shivered and jumped under his hands, wholly responsive. He moaned aloud when Brad rolled his balls, stiffened when one finger pressed against him...and held there.

All while Brad mouthed his way up Nate's body and then back down. All the way down to where he used his fingers to hold Nate open for him. Nate twitched but held very, very still. 

Brad drew it out, breathed against him—anticipation winding Nate tighter—and then finally gave in, laved his tongue across Nate's tight little hole. 

"Fuck!" Nate jumped, almost dislodging him. 

"Love it, don't you? I knew you would. Gonna make you forget your own name." Brad moved back in, tongue tracing around and around, even as Nate shook and keened at the onslaught. 

Brad stabbed his tongue _in_ and Nate choked out, "Oh, _God_ ," before the sound was abruptly cut off. Brad raised his head to look; Nate had muffled himself with a pillow.

"I want to hear you."

Nate pulled himself away from the pillow and sucked in a gasp. "Brad, _please_ —"

Brad's cock jerked and he rocked himself into the mattress. A little thrill of pleasure spread through him, but he made himself stop before it got too far. Shoved the want into some tiny corner of his brain and ignored it. For the moment.

He lowered his head, tongue thrusting in again and again. Nate's sounds weren't muffled at all; Brad could hear every gasp, every cut-off swear, every sob of want.

Fucking hell; he could get off from just the _sound_ of Nate Fick getting off.

When Nate's noises were tinged with desperation, that was when Brad pushed a slick finger inside him, licking around where it breached Nate's body.

Nate stiffened and called out, something wordless and wanting. Brad twisted and pressed that finger, opening him up. Nate's desperation quieted, but he still shivered at the feel of Brad's tongue on him.

Two fingers got a different kind of groan. Three got a hiss that had Brad stilling immediately.

Nate breathed and shook his head. "It's—it's fine. Don't stop." Brad didn't but he did go slower, added more lube, twisted and rotated and pressed down until he found what he wanted, until Nate's head snapped back on a surprised gasp. "Do—that—again," panted out between ragged breaths, so Brad did, memorized the angle and watched as Nate bucked back, harder.

At sight of which his cock declared war and his brain checked out because _Christ_ , was that scorching.

Brad's hands never shook, so getting the condom on wasn't a concern. The concern was not losing his fucking mind as he pushed his cock into Nate for the first time, watched the head disappear inside Nate's body, felt the overwhelming heat and tight and _good_.

Nate hissed again and Brad paused, for the both of them. Nate panted underneath him, all around him, while Brad shut his eyes and centered himself.

Gradually he felt a loosening of tension in Nate's body, a focused relaxation of muscles. Brad waited regardless, wanting to hear it.

"Brad," Nate rasped like it cost him something.

"Nate," Brad said, even.

Nate peered back over his shoulder; his eyes were heavy-lidded with want. "Yes, I want you to fuck me."

Brad gripped his hips and sank in. They both moaned. God, he felt this everywhere. He circled his hips, advancing deeper each time and Nate just opened up and took it.

And _that_ was going into his library of hottest memories of all time.

But Brad couldn't focus at the moment because he finally pushed all the way in, balls to Nate's ass, and it just...felt too real to be real. 

Then Nate pressed back and the world snapped back to, along with the pleasure so thick it was like swimming through sand. They were sweating and panting and one of them was shaking, not that Brad could distinguish which of them it was.

"Brad, please—"

And now Nate was goddamned begging and Brad just—

He pulled back a few inches, then thrust back in, held Nate's hips still and set up some kind of rhythm. He remembered that angle from earlier and adjusted his thrusts accordingly, minutely, until Nate went rigid underneath him.

"Oh, fuck— _yes_." Called, broken and fucked-out, and Brad grinned. He sped his thrusts, hit that spot every time, held Nate harder as he squirmed back and tried to get more.

This was... _really_ fucking him—shoving in so hard the headboard knocked against the wall, balls slapping against his ass, Nate would undoubtedly have bruises from Brad's fingers—

"More, right _there_ ," Nate demanded.

—and Nate wasn't doing anything but aching for more.

Brad grinned, then snapped his hips forward. That prickle had started up at the base of his spine again, spurred on by this endless heat. He pulled one hand away, let Nate try and shove himself back even harder. Brad draped himself over Nate's back—even that got a little moan—and found his cock: hard, probably red and angry-looking, definitely leaking. Brad squeezed and started jacking him. 

"—fuckin—so good," Nate said as he shoved himself back with marginally more success now that Brad wasn't holding him still. 

Brad jerked him harder.

"So good," Brad said, a breathless agreement. He mouthed Nate's shoulder and let himself feel it finally, letting everything sweep through him like the gutshot it was. "Have no fuckin' clue what you look like—knew it would be like this—perfect ass—" Nate shuddered and stilled beneath him. "—yeah. C'mon. Just like that. Come for me," he growled into Nate's skin.

Nate's cock jerked and his body gripped tight as he came, gasping Brad's name. 

One, two more jagged thrusts and Brad's orgasm burned through him, a white, spine-melting, merciless loss of control. Fingers tingled, lungs hurt...and Brad was more blissed out than he could ever remember being before.

After was...after. He desperately wanted to collapse and drift off, but crushing Nate was probably bad form and he might as well get on with the cleanup.

Still, he rested his chin against Nate's back, felt him breathe for a few moments, before he pulled himself up and carefully pulled out. They both groaned.

Brad tied off the condom and tossed it, then grabbed the pack of baby wipes from the nightstand. He cleaned himself up, then Nate. 

Nate moaned and pressed into Brad's touch, way too much way too soon, but damn if it didn't make him _want_.

Even the thought exhausted him. Brad flopped onto the bed and prepared to pass out.

Movement to his side.

Brad opened one eye to see Nate up and on his knees again—his cock gave an involuntary twitch. Much too soon. Nate nudged him and Brad made an interrogative sound, pretty much nonverbal for the time being. Nate could fucking well deal.

"Wet spot," Nate grumbled.

Brad obligingly slid over as far on the bed as he could. Nate followed, but instead of dropping off to sleep he leaned over and pressed his mouth to Brad's, just light.

Brad made a soft sound into his mouth and kissed him back.

It went on like that for a few long moments. Then Nate pulled back and collapsed onto the bed.

"Such a fuckin' girl," Brad muttered. They were touching at a couple points, but it was by no means smothering.

"Probably shouldn't insult the person you want to have sex with," Nate muttered.

"You already put out, tramp."

"Gosh if this is how you treat all the girls..." Brad snorted. "It's a good thing I like you," Nate said, yawning. "Otherwise there'd be no repeat performances and that'd be a shame."

Repeat performances? What the fuck was he babbling on about?

"Since when do I want a repeat performance?"

Nate hmmed, amused. "You've wanted me to fuck you since you walked out of the water and decided to start stripping for me. Not now, though. Gimme an hour." With that he rolled over and burrowed down.

Brad huffed out a laugh. An hour he could do.

***

Fin. Comments are adored.


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